Tears of Happiness
by LiechLiet
Summary: Drabble to commemorate odd weather. When England reveals his secret to a little girl in the 1940s, he had no idea that she'll remember him sixty years later.


_1947_

"_You all right, mister?"  
>Arthur Kirkland looked down to see a small, grubby girl looking up at him. He had been staring at one of the many war memorials dotted around Greater London. This one was simple stone, with hundreds of names engraved onto it. Tears were trickling down his cheeks – so many brave men slaughtered, so much evil in the past, so much pain for him and his people.<br>"I'm fine," he smiled tenderly, wiping his emerald eyes.  
>"Mummy says that my Daddy's name's on there," the girl told him. "It makes me sad." She placed a single starfish hand on the stone. "Is your Daddy on here too?"<br>Arthur was surprised that such a small girl – she couldn't have been older than six or seven – was so mature, so knowing.  
>"No," he replied, "but I knew every single one of these men." He traced the engraved names with one of his long pale fingers. "Every one," he said, more to himself than the girl.<br>"Every one?" the girl asked. "But there are hundreds! How did you know all of them?"  
>Arthur smiled to himself. What was the harm in telling a little girl? Nobody would believe her, and she would probably forget by tomorrow anyway.<br>"I knew all of them," he said proudly, drawing himself up, "because I'm England."  
>The girl regarded him with a curious look in her brown eyes. "What d'you mean, you're England? England's a country, not a person."<br>"I am the country," he explained. "My soul is the country's soul. I am the nation of England."  
>Then the girl did something he didn't expect. She slipped her tiny, hot hand into his and cried, "So when all those men died, you must have been really, really sad!"<br>Arthur stiffened, and coughed. "Yes, I was. I was heartbroken," he admitted.  
>"Poor love!" the girl exclaimed. She must have gotten that phrase from her mother, thought Arthur with a smile. "Everything's going to be all right, okay?" she said determinedly, squeezing his hand. "You'll get through it!"<br>The sheer love and faith in that small statement sent tears tracking down Arthur's cheeks again. Tears of joy.  
>"Look at the sky!" gasped the little girl, pointing upwards. It was as if someone had turned a light on behind the grey clouds, making the world dark and bright at the same time. The sunset in the west shone pink and orange, illuminating the clouds even further. Small raindrops began to fall. "Are you doing this?" demanded the girl, rounding on Arthur. "It's because you're England, and you're crying, so it's raining!"<br>Arthur could only nod. "But see how magical it looks? I may be crying, but they are tears of happiness."_

_Sixty-four years later_

The girl stared out of her kitchen window in surprise. The sky looked amazing – the bright sunset through the clouds lit up the world with an ethereal glow, and the rain pattering on the window only added to the feeling that something was out of the ordinary.  
>"Mum!" she called. "Come and take a look at this!"<br>Her younger brother ran around the kitchen table to look as well, as her mother and grandmother came to the window.

"Mummy, why's the sky all weird?" asked the little boy.  
>"I don't know, love," admitted the mother, staring up at the magic outside their window.<br>"Nanny, do you know why the sky's weird?" pressed the boy.  
>"Yes, I do," smiled the old woman. Only once before in her life had she seen such a sky. "I can tell you a story about it if you like."<br>"Yes please!"  
>"David, stop faffing around and get ready for bed," scolded the mother.<br>"But I want to hear Nanny's story!"  
>The mother just sighed and crossed her arms. "Five minutes."<p>

"When I was a little girl, it must have been nearly sixty-five years ago," began the old lady, "I met a man when we were living in town. He was a very special man – he was England."  
>"What?" the girl couldn't help but ask. "But Nan, how could a man have been England?"<br>"His soul was the country's soul." The woman nodded wisely. "And the sky turned exactly this colour when he started crying."  
>"So the rain is like his tears?" asked the little boy.<br>"Okay, five minutes is up!" interrupted the mother. "David, go and clean your teeth. Lucy, go and turn the telly on for Nan, the news is starting."

As the girl led her grandmother into the sitting room, she asked, "You didn't finish your story, Nan. The rain, is it England's tears?"  
>"Yes," the old lady replied. "He may be crying, but they are tears of happiness," she said quietly.<p>

**Just random drabble to commemorate the seriously odd weather in England a few weeks ago. I could imagine it being England crying in happiness C: By the way, 'faffing' means dithering – it's a very English phrase, along with telly, which means the TV.**


End file.
